White Emotions
by Captain Cutlas
Summary: Magic created Vanyel to walk a preordained path or will Lereath manage to shape Vanyel into something different. Vanyel finds out who Lereath really is...
1. Prelude

This is my first fic based off of Mercedes Lackey's books. I chose my favorite of all her stories, The Last Herald-Mage. I own nothing. I am a huge lover of Vanyel. Most in particularly, Lereath really drew me. Who is he? Why does he look like Vanyel? This is my interpretation on it...

**White Emotions**

Icy wind forced its way across a barren land of snow. Twisted rocks carved jagged by the harsh elements loomed over a white world. A constant fall of solid ice blotted out the skies over-head and pelted the land relentlessly. Not a living thing stirred and only the howl of the wind could be heard.

Beneath the snow something moved. The air suddenly became still as if the eye of a hurricane had passed into the lands. The movement from below the freezing snow ceased. Then long, slender fingers found their way out of the frozen coffin. Blued by the cold, a second set of digits found their way to the chill surface. The ground heaved upwards and the packed snow seemed to hold onto its captive for only a moment.

Smooth hair as black as ocean waves in the pitch of night cascaded over pale shoulders, falling semi-frozen, forward like a curtain to conceal a man's face. The thin torso of a young man's body wriggled free from the snow. Standing up straight, slowly, as if unsure how to even move, the man held out his lovely, almost feminine hands. His naked body tingled in the crisp air and he gasped loudly, breaking the silence the elements had woven. The last of the snow found its way back to the ground and left thin trails of icy water in its wake on the paled skin.

His first breath burned as it grabbed onto the burning cold air and dragged it down to his lungs, causing him to shudder. Ebony hair began to harden from the wet of the snow. Tourcherously slow, the man brought one hand up to his face and laid his finger tips upon the frozen flesh. He barely felt his touch as he ran fingers over high cheek bones and a perfectly sculpted jaw line.

The world was completely dark and he almost panicked as the realization of his existence settled in. Fear sunk down into his very bones, where even the cold couldn't reach. He felt his thin, pale pink lips stretch tightly into a frown. His frozen lashes resting against his cheeks twitched with the effort to open his eyes.

-.-.-

Eyes the color of the finest silver opened wide. Throwing himself forward, Vanyel took deep shuttering breaths. He ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. He tried to remember what he had just been dreaming about but the images of it were fast fleeting from his consciousness.

Vanyel ran thin, girlish fingers through deep black hair and sighed. He truly felt alone. He was only a couple days into his escorted trip to Haven, the capital of Valdemar, and he was already home-sick. Never mind that his father treated him like a cowering sow and Jervis, the arms master, acted as though he deserved a daily dose of beatings. Vanyel would give anything to even be back in the stuffy bower of his mother, Thereasa.

With a sigh, the young man rolled onto his side and stared at the embers of the dying camp fire. He steeled himself against tears. Vanyel had a new persona now. He mustn't show emotion. No happiness, no fear, no anger...no sadness. If he couldn't reign in his emotions when no one was around, how could he do it each morning amongst a crowd of simpering fools.

The soft smell of burnt wood tickled Vanyel's nose and he threw his blanket over his head. He wanted to hide from his two "prison guards." Sneering to himself, Vanyel imagined his fantasy of snow and ice. If he could be numb inside, he could be safe.


	2. Chapter 1

I'm sorry the dream transitions are confusing for some of you. And that my small mention of Vanyel leaving home for Haven wasn't enough of a clue that the first chapter takes place in the first book. Further more, this story is supposed to be a bit confusing. I'm not going to outright tell you what every thing means. This is a story focusing on Lereath. It's about his beginnings and his creation. Let me give you a clue, these dreams are about Lereath. Vanyel just happens to be there. Ho ho! If I'm being too much of an ass hole and you can't give proper criticism, don't read this story. And no more "this is misspelled" crap. I don't spell check or proof read. I slap my stories on right after I type'em up. Deal with it.

Love Always,

Captain Cutlas

P.S. I shall put dividers in...¬.¬

**White Emotions**

Each night Vanyel dropped into a hell of not fire, but ice. He had arrived at Haven months ago and everyday he hated it more. The people he associated were mindless zealots. They fawned over his good looks and pretended to care. But Vanyel knew better. So he surrounded himself in frozen solitude every night to fortify his heart against any hurts.

The dreams always became more vivid, more alive. Rolling over in his sleep, Vanyel shivered and pulled his thick blankets up over his shoulder. He was running. Each step through the pristine snow caused his feet to sink until his legs were heavy and numb. The snow grew into sharp outcrops of blue ice. And still Vanyel ran.

While Vanyel slept and dreamt of an endless winter, Lereath too, dreamt. For months a young man who looked much like himself invaded his dreams. When he slipped into his dream world, he always walked the path of his birth place. Lereath had been born of the land centuries before this young man entered his realm. Sometimes, Lereath would reach out to touch him, but then abruptly wake.

This was one of those nights and after watching the lovely boy run, he started awake. Slowly opening his eyes, Lereath breathed deeply. _I must know who he is. _Slipping out if bed, Lereath settled his feet upon cold stone floors. With a twitch of his wrist, candles flickered to life. Sniffing the air, Lereath smiled.

A storm was coming. If it was blowing in towards Valdamer, he could throw a thought upon the wind to touch the minds of those damn Heralds. The boy in his dream didn't seem like a Herald, but maybe one had seen him and that would mean Lereath would know if the pale, angelic-faced boy was real.

Chuckling, Lereath looked darkly down to his hands. The same hands that fashioned his castle and commanded an army, would one day destroy everything. Especially the Heralds and their cursed Companions. He hated all of them. They were too stupid to even know that he existed.

"What foolish pigs! They don't stand a chance!" Lereath threw back his head, black hair shining against the candle light, and laughed. Bringing a hand to his face he covered one twinkling eye and the other stared crazily out his arched, stone window to the black sky.

"I will kill them all."

-.-.-

Slipping easily into his mask of indifference. Vanyel walked out of his room with his head held high and a confident bounce to each of his steps. He adorned a pair of crimson pants made of soft corduroy and a thin, white blouse. Smirking to himself, he coudln't help but feel like a God. It was important to Vanyel to always look exceptional for his fans. Not ahair was out of place and he particularly liked how corduroy showed off his physique.

Bounding out of his room, Tylendel practically ran into Vanyel. He quickly hid a look of admiration at Vanyel's desirable form and chirped, "Good morning, Vanyel!"

"Hello." Turning on his heel, Vanyel barely gave the blond haired boy a second glance. As soon as he was out of the main room that all Savil's trainees were entitled to share, he pressed his hands to his warming cheeks. _Gods! He is so amazing! I can't calm my heart. But I have to! No one can get in. Not even Tylendel. _


	3. Chapter 2

Good day to you my friends! I am terribly sorry I haven't been writing. But let me tell you why….Are you reading this or the story? Oh well… My dream has come true! Yes! My dream! I am now a Funeral Director and Embalmer apprentice! Sounds strange, I know. But I've wanted this career my whole life. And now I'm livin' the dream! I am bursting with joy! I must share it with you! That's why I haven't been writing. I am working a lot! So praise me! YES! PRAISE ME! MY DREAM IS ALIVE! WEEEEE!

**White Emotions**

Father Leren shivered. A chill that penetrated his very bones would not seem to warm, even as he sat by the crackling fire in his room's hearth. He just had another "visit" from Lereath. It was always the same. The decayed body of a raven would tap at his window and through it, Lereath would "speak".

Taking a deep drink of warmed wine, Leren tried to avoid looking at the retched body of the dead bird. It lay outside his window. Inanimate, with dull black eyes staring at him. Leren couldn't bring himself to brush it off the ledge after his meeting with his Master was over.

Turning back to the fire, he recalled the conversation.

"_I trust everything is well, _Father_," Lereath harsh voice could have very well been the raven's voice if it could speak. The bird's lower jaw dangled open as a chuck of rotted flesh peeled off its wing to land with a thick plop to the floor of Leren's room. _

"_I have followed your orders, precisely, Master…" the priest couldn't help but trail off as a few of the raven's insipid feathers broke loose from it's motley body. _

"_I am looking for some one, Leren. A young man. He is very beautiful. Black hair and silver eyes. I want to know who he is. Use your contacts to find out."_

_Swallowing a gulp, Leren twisted his fingers in his robe. "I may know some one who fits that description…His name is Vanyel Ashkrevon. He used to live here at Forest Reach…"_

_The raven did a little hop-scotch as Lereath's laugh crawled its way out the dead thing's very body._

The fire popped and caused Leren to jump in his seat. The over-stuffed, graying arm chair he inhabited was the most comfortable one he owned. It felt like he was sitting on rocks. _What does Lereath want with that sniveling boy?_

-.-.-

Vanyel couldn't hold back a sigh of longing as he watched Tylendel studying with Mardic and Donni. He felt like they taunted him when they all sat around talking about their classes. He dared not spy on them any longer. Quietly closing the door to his room, he tried to ignore the sound of them talking and enjoying themselves. For some reason, when Vanyel thought about Tylendel, his ice threatened to melt.

Steeling himself against a wave of loneliness, Vanyel threw himself into the soft embrace of his bed on his stomach. He burrowed his face into his pillow as images of Tylendel's brightened smile directed at him. _Gods! I am an idiot! What is wrong with me! Why do I feel this way…_

-.-.-

Always the dream. Vanyel began to feel a presence in his snow capped world. He didn't know why, but it was life he was being scrutinized. Like being judged. He began to shake, but not from the cold he envoked into his heart. Then he found himself in a narrow valley of sheared ice. Something was coming. An army! Ghouls and men, side by side in dull black armor.

Head held high, Lereath smirked as his army made their way down the ice path he had carved. He thought to himself that the blue colour of the ice would better befit red. Like the blood from the dying he used so often used to work his perfected magic. The soldiers suddenly stopped. Hiding a frown of frustration, he signaled to his wizards to move to the front to see what was keeping him from accomplishing his destiny. He was excited and ready to kill the inhabitants of Valdamear. Nothing would stand in his way...


	4. Chapter 3

**White Emotions**

One by one, Herald-Mage Vanyel fought each wizard. But he was dying. And knew it. The fight in his wrecked body was gone and when he felt like each lightening bolt that scorched his skin would be the last, he was still standing. The crisp stench of his burnt cloths caused him to wrinkle his nose.

The air was so thick with the scent of blood and seared ground he could taste it in the back of his throat. Fighting down the impulse to cry out as Vanyel felt the desolate fingers of loneliness close around his heart, the Herald strengthened his protections. Only to have them stripped away. And he knew, knew that he was going to die alone in this harsh, isolated place. And that nearly made the young man's heart stop.

Lereath grew impatient and began ordered his minions to move so that he could get through. _Those damn wizards! Can't they do anything right?_ He snarled to himself. Ahead he caught sight of the flashing lightening and the inane shouts of battle cries grew louder. Growing inpatient with the tediously slow pace he was making because of so little area to move, he reached out and broke the neck of the man trying to step aside. Then began to walk over the crumpled body towards the next unwary soldier.

Abruptly Lereath found himself awake and shaking. Inhaling deeply, he tried too calm his pounding heart. _Was that the future? My Foresight…_He wasn't quivering out of fear, but anticipation. If that was truly to be the path he would walk, then he really would be taking his mindless army to Valdamear and that brought him a deep, twisted joy.

Smirking, he pitched himself out of bed in a manner more befitting a child. His ebony eyes glowed silver in the pitch of his room as he paced restlessly across the dustless floor. He knew every inch of his immaculate palace and often walked its silent stone passages in a black so thick it could suffocate.

_But what about the delay I saw in my dream?_ Coming to a halt, Lereath ran a slender hand through his silky hair. He knew to never grow too bold. Being brash would have caused him to be revealedto his enemies long ago. No, Lereath was a cautious monarch. He always thought of himself as a silent cat killing with precision and always unseen. It never failed him to take everything into account. Even his dreams. No matter how minuscule the problem may seem, Lereath dealt with it quickly.

-.-.-

"Vanyel!" Tylendel was there. Holding him. The nefarious feel of his dream caused Vanyel to shudder and rattle his teeth painfully. His whole body was cold. The joints of his arms and legs hurt painfully when he tried to move them. Sweating, Vnayel looked up into Tylendel's lovely eyes. His face was taught with worry and Vanyel tried to pull away. But the younger boy only held him closer. And Tylendel held his breath as he thought that maybe now the healing could begin.


	5. Chapter 4

It is 3:00 am. I am at work. I am very tired. This is all I can manage...I think a rock is in my shoe...

**White Emotions**

The chill of the pearly night air didn't even reach Lereath. He stood at the head of his vast army of black armored soldiers. Each one twisted and molded into an image of his liking. He had carved his own kingdom to his preference and as such, carved into the souls of the men behind him, making them creatures of an unrelenting obedience.

That damned Herald in front of him. As beautiful as Lereath himself and he couldn't help but feel a crushing desire to rend Herald-Mage Vanyel's very being and transform him into something even greater, something he could own. Atramentous black eyes locked with argentite silver.

Lereath came awake all at once. He lay perfectly still, eyes closed as he fought off a distortion of reality from his dream of Foresight. One slender finger twitched, he felt a single hair tickle his nose, the hollow tremor of complete silence was deafening.

"Something must be done," his whisper filling that hollow void all around him. _I will not let Vanyel ruin my glory. He must not stand in my way. I will find a way to wholly destroy him._

-.-.-

"I would rather wrap my lips around yours…" Arching one eyebrow, Tylendel set aside the apple he was about to bite as he tempted Vanyel. The two lovers lay stretched out side by side in their secluded patch of forest. A picnic of soft cheese and fruits spread out above their heads.

Without a word, Vanyel shifted so that half his body was on top Lendel's, propping his body up on an elbow. Ebony hair cascaded down over one shoulder and brushed against Lendel's cheek. With a smile playing on his lips, the older boy reached up and let his hands fall through the silken hair.

The warm summer air was still but not stifling and with a devious look, Vanyel bent down so that their lips almost touched, "You'll have to earn my kisses!" And with that, he abruptly rolled away and sprinted off.

Without missing a beat, Lendel was on his feet a second later, laughing as he tackled his love around the legs. Spilling to the grass cushioned floor, Vanyel struggled to crawl away as Tylendel clambered up his legs and onto his back.

Both laughed as they began to wrestle, oblivious to the pine needles and moss sticking to their hair and cloths. The smell of dirt and trees hung in the air. Trying to get his knees under himself, Vanyel was thrown again to the ground as Lendel chucked all his weight down to prevent the intended escape.

"You can't get away! I demand a kiss as payment for your freedom!" Tylendel breathed into Vanyel's ear as he put his palms over Vanyel's hands and twined their fingers together.

"What if I never want to be freed of you?"

-.-.-

With growing obsession, Lereath slept through the days. He couldn't stop himself. He was infatuated. To see Vanyel every time he fell into a slumber was both gratifying and infuriating. The young man called to him as the magic in the earth called. He needed it, wanted it, must have it. No matter what.


End file.
